The old man and the mule

A faint outline appeared in the early morn
a full moon still shed its light, dark shadows
spread across the land casting an eerie
shadow over the far distant hills.
An old buckboard clattered along a dusty
road bumping roughly over pot holes
washed out by an early winter rain.

The old mule plodded along - ribs
showing from a life of hard work prolonged,
a rather tired animal trudging slowly along
tugging at its heavy load.

The old man sat humped over on the seat,
nodding as though he was asleep.
A low hanging branch served to awaken him as
it slapped sharply against the side of his head
causing him to sit up straight, grabbing his hat
that was about to be shed.

A road traveled more than once,
from the old farm down to the general store,
bumping along on rutted roads, filled with
holes, not a friendly ride it was, but
one that both the rider and mule
had made many times.

On either side of the road rows of tall trees standing straight
with leaves long since gone, the trunks
appearing as gaunt ribs rising up from the ground
much as the old mule appeared,
as it pulled its heavy load quietly by.

The day was cold, a north wind blew, chilling
both with icy fingers that cut to the bone;
but the old man and the mule just plodded along,
going silently down that dusty road bumping
over the ruts and pot holes worn by time and use itself;
two old friends working and waiting, serving out time
as they repeated their daily chores.

Time and work takes its toll,
as man and beast move along
worn and traveled roads
doing never ending chores of old
until the end of a road is finally reached.

Jesus

He came to us in the night
born in a stable, long ago,
with only the stars for light
a sign of heaven's glow;
wrapped in a blanket
and warmed by love
he became a sign
of God's descending dove.

He came to teach
of a new word of God,
one of mercy and of love
and with a promise from above,
He healed the sick
and cured the lame
gave sight to the blind
and raised the dead;
He was the Son of God,
the one true Lamb,
sent to us all
from that night in a stall.

Jesus was his name,
Immanuel - God with us,
the Prince of Peace;
but a jealous and frightened few
incited the people into a stew
and beat and tormented him
and nailed him to a tree,
so he died without any blame
that we might be free of our shame;
but, God raised him from the dead
and overcame all strife
that we in turn might have eternal life.

You Raise Me Up

When I was down
and didn't know what to do
when I was feeling dark and always blue
you came into my life
and raised me up

When days end came
and the sun was setting
and life was getting dark
you came into my life
and raised me up

When times seemed so bad
and I just always stayed sad
and nothing seemed to be going right
you came into my life
and raised me up

Without you in my life
days seem so long
without you in my life
I would be so alone
you are the one I truly rely on
for you raise me up

The smile on your face
the look in your eyes
the touch of your hands
are all that I need
for you raise me up

God sent you to me
you are my all
the sunshine in my life
I thank God you are my wife
for you raise me up

Whistle Stop

It sits empty and sad
having gone from good to bad,
where once there were people
now there is only a vacant steeple,
the church is bare, except for a few;
there's not much left, only the morning dew.
Like so many places across this land
this old whistle stop sits closed and broken down.
Where once as children we played, catching fireflies
in Mason jars, and dancing with sparklers in the front yard,
now the homes are closed and falling in,
the stores and movie and grocery too
stand bare and empty with nothing left to do,
and down the street there is hardly a trace,
of the old school, so that we wouldn't recognize the place.
We called this old whistle stop home
and memories we still keep,
every time the freight passes it makes us leap
fireflies still light the nighttime summer sky
and millions of stars still live close by.
So even if the train doesn't stop any more,
and all that is left is its' mournful whistle;
home it is, and home it will be,
no matter if there is nothing left for us to see.

Wild and Free

Black Arabian
king of the plains
wild and free

Straw men and problems

His hair was yellow, a piece of straw
sticking out the side every which a way
standing tall and mute, not a word; just looking cute.
life's problems not being faced
left to their own, unattended, drifting
like a straw cast in the wind,
wonder why this is considered a sin?
heartaches and worries all about, you see -
but no one to solve them, but you and me.
that's all around us do we see
straw men and problems
left for you and me.
things get solved by doing and sometimes failing
not by standing tall, mute and cute
mistakes are made
lessons are learned
trial and error
sometimes we get burned,
that's how to face the world that we see;
not being a straw man, but working together...just you and me.

Dreams

I dream dreams of beautiful things,
things that I love to see and feel.

I dream of waterfalls
and see the sparkle of sunlight through the water
that from its radiant color forms a rainbow
and hear the rush of wind as it falls far below.

I think of a flower
and dream of the perfect nature of a petal,
the sprinkling of color so perfectly settled..
uplifting in its nature.

I see birds soaring in the sky
and dream of their soft call as they seek
another from far away.

I dream of one who loves me
as deeply as I love her
and dream of her touch on my bare skin
and feel the warm caress of parted lips.

I dream of a baby sleeping quietly in its bed
and see the faint smile on its face
as it dreams likewise of butterflies
skipping across cloudless skies.

I think of children, and dream
of their running across a field
and hear them arguing over who
was the fastest of them all.

It's been written that we can dream
but, not let dreams become our master.
I am enslaved to my dreams...
shameless and unafraid,
I dream dreams and bow
to my master.